


Compromise

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [27]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Humor, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: He’d heard the old story about home renovation being a sort of trial by fire for any marriage, and with a huge, badly damaged place like Musgrave in the equation it was, at times, little short of hellish. That this particular time got top marks for hellishness seemed absurd -- but then he had begun to gather, over the last few years, just how absurd his parents could be...Set betweenThe Facts of LifeandMemento Moriin theAftermathseries, this is one chapter of The Renovation of Musgrave Hall from the eldest son's point of view,





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellis_Hendricks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellis_Hendricks/gifts).



> For Ellis_Hendricks who wanted more of Sherlock and Molly’s conflict over the decor of the master bedroom suite as the second phase of the resurrection of Musgrave goes forward. My sincere thanks to her for beta reading and edits!
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The coast was clear. Dad was out checking his beehives, and Mum was busy in the kitchen, putting a quick breakfast together for all of them before finishing her packing for her weekend away. 

“I really should go help your mum,” Rosie said, looking worried. 

“No, Gwen’s with her, it’s fine,” Will said, referring to their live-in housemaid, Gwen Babcock, formerly a member of his father’s homeless network. With a house as big as Musgrave Hall it was essential to have assistance with the upkeep, and Gwen had proven herself “a treasure” over the last year, Mum said. 

“Gwen makes the _best_ hot chocolate,” said ten-year-old Daisy, still in her pyjamas, pink dressing gown, and puffy unicorn slippers as she came to stand beside Rosie and took her hand.  Rosie looked down with that same fond smile she’d always had for Will’s little sister. 

Though not so little, anymore. Daisy’s advancing maturity was always startlingly obvious to Will, and now Jon, too, when they came home on holiday from Eton. And Daisy herself would soon be off to Wycombe Abbey, if all went according to plan. Their paternal grandmother had attended that prestigious all girls boarding school, and their great grandmother before that. A trust had been established by Millicent Holmes for Daisy in the event her beloved granddaughter saw fit to grant her dying wish and carry on the tradition. Daisy, who’d initially balked at the idea, had recently visited the school with Mum and Rosie and now was all for it, though Will suspected she’d be pretty homesick when she started in September, and not just because she’d be on her own for the first time, away from Mum and Dad. 

Daisy had adored Musgrave from the day she’d first set foot in the place and hadn’t missed London in the least when they’d removed to the (then) dilapidated ancestral pile. With both Will and Jon up at Eton, Daisy had run a bit wild in her new surroundings, overwhelmed by the possibilities of fresh air, vast grounds, and the mostly open countryside that lay beyond the borders of the estate. She’d caused a couple of scares, and some stern measures had been taken to curb this unwise behavior. Will still laughed, remembering the dramatic emails he’d received from her -- you’d have thought their parents were beating her, or keeping her locked in a dark cupboard on bread and water. He’d emailed back, expressing some sympathy but adding a bit of a scold of his own, and an exhortation to “be good and take care of Mum and Dad for me -- they’re not getting any younger, you know”, and, remarkably, that seemed to have done the trick. She’d even apologized to Mum and Dad (eventually) and had settled in, attending to her studies, watching the renovations with fascination, and mostly obeying the edict to stay within sight of the house when she was once again allowed go outside without an adult or older sibling. 

And now that her very own special bedroom had been completed, she’d taken to spending a great deal of time there, reading, playing with the dolls and things she still loved, and… well… growing up. 

They all were. Will would soon join Rosie at Oxford, and Jon, with his sharp mind and easy manner, was already firmly entrenched as one of the leading lights of his class at Eton. Will was both proud and a little envious of his brother’s success, since Will’s first year at the school had not gone that smoothly. But then, he hadn’t had the presence and occasional advice of an older sibling when he’d started. Dad, in this one instance, had been of little help, since he’d detested school (or so he’d averred), but ultimately Mum and Uncle Mycroft had given Will some excellent counsel, and by his third year he had found his niche and was the nominal leader of a small group of like-minded mates. 

He was looking forward to seeing his mates again, actually, because this month at home hadn’t been the holiday of his dreams by any means. 

He’d heard the old story about home renovation being a sort of trial by fire for any marriage, and with a huge, badly damaged place like Musgrave in the equation it was, at times, little short of hellish. That this particular time got top marks for hellishness seemed absurd -- but then he had begun to gather, over the last few years, just how absurd his parents could be. They’d weathered the lengthy and expensive structural repairs alright, and had survived the ground floor phase with their sanity intact, even the kitchen, which had come out so beautifully after being such a bone of contention. But this third phase, the renovation of the first floor bedrooms, and in particular their master suite, seemed likely to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

As Jon joined them with a yawn and a “G’morning,” Will led Rosie and his siblings inside the vast bedroom. 

“Here it is,” he said to Rosie. “Mum hates it.” 

Rosie looked about her, frowning. “It is very different from their bedroom in London. Elegant, though. It… looks like your father. Like he chose everything, the furniture, the curtains, the carpet.” 

“He was tired of frills, he said,” Jon sniffed. “And I can see his point. He didn’t take much from Baker Street when they got married, and he said he liked the way Mum had decorated her flat, it was so her. But when it came to this place, he wanted something _classic_. Which it is. But Mum’s _really_ not happy with the way it turned out.” 

Will elaborated, “She was willing to compromise, but she gave too much ground, and when she was up at Edinburgh University for that conference, Dad finished it off with these linens, those heavy curtains. Mum was pretty upset. They’ve actually been… well, having some pretty heated discussions about it.” 

“They _fight_ ,” Daisy said, baldly. “Mum even slept on the sofa in the library one night. And Dad _let_ her!” 

“Oh, how dreadful!” Rosie exclaimed. “But this is silly, how can they let such a thing come between them?” 

“I don’t know,” said Will. “I think they’re better now-- after that one night. But Mum’s still--” 

“Still what?” came Dad’s voice behind them. 

They all gasped and whirled to face him. 

 He had a raised brow and his eyes were a bit narrowed, but there was a smile in them, too, and on his lips. And he said, “Talking about the situation with the decor?” 

They were all of them red-faced, except Daisy, who said with her usual forthright honesty, “Mum doesn’t like it, Daddy. Not really.” 

He gave a sort of sad chuckle. “She doesn’t, does she? And the situation’s been fairly worrying for the lot of you, I suppose.” 

Rosie ventured to ask, “Did she really sleep on the sofa one night, Uncle Sherlock?” 

“She did,” he admitted. “That was certainly a low point in the proceedings. We did make it up the following day, of course, which was rather… hmmm… yes… well, in any case, we haven’t been parted since.”  He looked at each of them and said, quite seriously, “May I extend our sincere apologies. The revelation that one’s parents are only human is a distressing one, I know. However, as you know, she’ll be off to London to visit her friend Meena for the weekend, after we all eat breakfast, and your dad will be here this evening, Rosie. And it may be that I’ve something up my sleeve that will both appease my wife and restore balance to the universe. Would all of you like to help set it in motion?” 

“Yes, of course,” exclaimed Will, one voice in a chorus of agreement. 

“But what is it? What are we going to do?” demanded Daisy. 

Jon said quickly, “Don’t tell her, Dad, you know she can’t keep a secret.” 

Before Daisy could protest, Dad held up a hand. “After your mother’s out of here. Then I’ll tell all of you, and show you everything. Till then, mum’s the word.” 

“ _Mum’s_ the word!” Jon chuckled, and Will and Rosie couldn’t help grinning, too. 

But Daisy, annoyed (and annoyingly pert) put her nose in the air and quoted, “ _He who would pun would pick a pocket_.” 

Dad only looked amused and a bit impressed. “Very good! And true as well. Though just because _I_ can, don’t assume that gives you -- _any_ of you -- leave to do so.” 

“Dad,” said Jon, with a roll of his eyes, “you told us that _years_ ago, when you first taught us how to do it.” 

“Hmm. So I did. We’ll have a competition later, see who’s the best pickpocket among us.” 

“After Mum leaves, of course.” Will grinned. 

“Of course,” Dad agreed, and gave them a wink.

 

*

 

They were bloody exhausted by the time 6PM rolled around on Sunday evening and Mum was due home, but it was a good kind of exhaustion, the weariness of people who’d worked hard and accomplished great things in a very short span of time. Now they were all showered and dressed in clean, comfortable clothes, and Rosie, who was, as always, amazing, was putting together dinner -- and not just any old thing, either. She’d discovered a big cut of beef in the freezer the previous evening, when they were getting together some pizza and salad after their long Saturday, and now she was putting together a real Sunday Roast for all of them. Her dad looked ready to burst with pride, just from the delicious smell of it, and Will, who’d been helping her a bit, setting the table and the like, now that he was cleaned up, was afraid he was more in love with her than ever. 

That love was Will’s secret delight and agony, and would have to stay a secret for a number of years yet. Maybe the rest of his life, if Rosie met someone else. Happily, she had thus far eschewed serious romantic entanglements, and the older they got, the less that two years between them seemed to matter. Time would tell if anything would come of it… if the hope and fondest wish of Will’s heart was destined to be fulfilled. Will was no longer the skinny, nerdish little brother of his early days at Eton. And next year both he and Rosie would be at Oxford… 

Will’s musings were (perhaps fortunately) interrupted by Mum’s arrival. He tossed the stack of serviettes he’d been getting ready to fold onto the dining room table, smiled at Rosie as she came bustling through from the kitchen, and together they hurried into the foyer just as Mum was being attacked by Daisy, who seemed in desperate need of hugs. 

“Heavens, what smells so delicious!” Mum exclaimed, laughing as she embraced her daughter. 

Daisy said, “Rosie’s cooking, Mum!” 

“Sunday Roast with all the trimmings,” Rosie said, with justifiable pride. She smiled at her dad, who was just coming in from the library with Dad and Jon. “Couldn’t have those cooking lessons go to waste.” 

“Best money I ever spent,” John Watson said, beaming at his daughter. 

But Dad said to Mum, “About time you got here, I was starting to worry.” 

They kissed, and Mum said, “Silly, I texted you with my ETA!” 

“Yes, but we have a surprise for you,” said Dad, quite casually, “so every minute’s been torture. Come. Let us show you.” 

“Let me take off my coat!” Mum exclaimed, but Dad paid no heed, just pulled her along toward the staircase. “Sherlock!” 

“Nope, can’t wait any longer, come with me, Mrs. Holmes.” 

Will, Jon, Rosie and Daisy pounded up the stairs ahead of them, and John Watson brought up the rear.  A half-minute later they were all gathered by the doors to the Master Suite, Mum laughing and curious, and Dad saying with a smile, “Open it up!” 

Will and Jon did so, one to each door, and grinned as Mum was escorted in, and her laughter turned to astonishment. 

The tone of the room had altered completely. Where there had been heavy, deep blue drapes over the windows, there were now filmy, sheer white swags. The same filmy material formed a cloud-like canopy for the big four-poster bed, and the bed itself was now covered with a lush-looking duvet of white festooned with sprays of small blue flowers. There were pillow shams to match the duvet, with a couple of throw-pillows placed as accents, one the deep blue of the bedskirt (the only piece retained of the linen set Dad had originally installed), and one of yellow satin, edged with a ruffle and adorned with some very fine embroidered birds. There were also white lace and linen scarves of simple but elegant design on the nightstands, and a matching runner on the chest of drawers. 

The carpeted floor, which had been an unbroken expanse of the same deep blue as the linens and drapes, now sported a vast oriental rug in shades of cream, pink, and pale blue. It lay between the foot of the bed and the small hearth, in which a fire was cheerfully burning. And above the fire, where a large seascape had previously hung, there was now a mirror in a gilded frame. 

The mirror matched the one new piece of furniture in the transformed room: a vanity. 

“It’s antique, Louis XVI style,” Dad told her when Mum moved toward it with a look of disbelief, “though it’s not as old as that, maybe early 1900’s, and the stool is far more recent, but looked more comfortable than the original. Do you like it?” 

Mum stared for another moment, then turned to Dad and said, in a shaking voice, “I love it! Oh, Sherlock! How--” 

But Dad cut her short. “No weeping, now, you haven’t even seen the loo, yet.” 

“You did the bath, too?” Mum turned and half stumbled toward the door to the loo, in the corner of the room, and then gripped the doorframe, white-knuckled. “Oh, my God! It’s gorgeous!” 

Will came up beside his stunned mother (and grinning father) and offered, “That took the longest to do, changing out the wallpaper and paint. Dad had all the materials and equipment, though, so we got it done.” 

And John Watson said, with a note of pride, “I ran into the village and got those new fixtures for the sink and the bath, and switched them out. Sherlock hadn’t thought of that.” 

“Oh, John!” Mum said, turning to him, with tears in her eyes. But then her gaze widened. “And all of you! How can I ever thank you?” 

Will just chuckled, seeing that he and Jon and Daisy could never repay what they owed their mother. Rosie looked teary, too, and John Watson smiled. But Dad said, with his usual cheek, “I’m sure we can think of something,” and Mum gave a shout of laughter and pretty much threw herself into his arms. 

John quietly but firmly herded everyone else out of the room, silencing Daisy with a look, and once they were back out in the hall and had closed the double doors he said, “That went well. And now for dinner, eh?” 

And Rosie gave a start of dismay. “My Yorkshire Pudding! _Blast!_ ” she exclaimed, and was running for the stairs. 

Daisy ran after her, demanding, “What’s wrong?” 

And Rosie’s voice came drifting back, “I should have turned the oven down ten minutes ago!” 

But Rosie’s dad just chuckled. “Ah, well. We’ll still have the potatoes, right. Everything back to as normal as it’ll ever be. Let’s go down, lads. I bought a bottle of champagne in the village, too, when I went in for those fancy fixtures for the bath. I believe the time’s come to open it.”

 

~.~

 


End file.
